When We Grow Up
by Terrapin Kavalier
Summary: Malus keeps the promise he made to Carrie years ago, when the two agreed that they would be wed when Malus has grown up.


Disclaimer:  the obligatory message saying that I do not own the legal rights to the Castlevania characters featured in this story.  They are copyrighted by KCEK (Konami Computer Entertainment somethingoranother).

Johan groped in the darkness.  He could hear the crisp crunching sound of the dead leaves under his boots as he walked forward, toward the road.  He had been avoiding the night watches.  They were nosy fellows who were given to gossip.  If he had been detained, no doubt the knowledge of his condition would've leaked out.  The night watches were not a gentleman's fellow; they cared not about the occasional relief that any gentleman needed from their dreary life.  They would've told the wives, and the news would've reached his wife.

"That would've been terrible," Johan thought as he moved forward among the trees and the bushes, swaggering left and right as he walked.  Momentarily, a hiccup escaped his throat.  "I need to think of some excuse to give my wife," thought Johan as he cupped his hand over his mouth. "I'll just tell her that the night watch blocked the town because of the danger of wolves."  Johan was pleased with this lie that he conjured.  Even though the nightmare of Dracula's resurrection ended seven years ago, the countryside remained dangerous--or so the men told their wives, and the latter believed.  Johan was so pleased with his genius that he allowed himself a swinging gesture.  Presently, he tumbled to the ground, lying in a heap behind a bush by the road.  Johan groaned, and he lost consciousness.

When Johan came to, the full moon was directly over him.  It was a dull red color--the color of Mars.  Johan was aware of a slight headache, but he was rather lucid.  He realized that he had been sleeping on the ground for almost an hour.  He was about to groan--because of both his headache and the expected temper of his wife--, but he checked himself, for he heard a few murmuring voices on the other side of the bush.  "Robbers?" Johan immediately thought.  Even though the full moon provided plenty of night, no traveler would journey this late in the night in Wallachia.  Johan's nerves tensed as he listened to the conversation.  The first he heard was a bass voice.  It was a little raspy, as if the speaker had a slight cold, and a faint echo accompanied the speaker.

"So, you finally decided to move with the marriage," the voice addressed its owner's companion.

"Yes.  'When you grow up, I will be your bride," she said.  We are no longer children," a voice in the tenor range answered.  It sounded soft--a direct contrast to the first--, yet Johan detected in both some sort of unmistakable similarity.  He could not put his hands on what it was.

"It has always seemed fitting.  Now, everything is in its rightful place--you and her," the bass voice remarked.  A slight "hum" escaped the throat of the tenor, followed by a period of silence.  The tenor voice was thinking, Johan concluded.  He thought that it was a good time to try to get a glimpse of the two speakers--the moonlight was strong enough that he could see.  Johan lifted his head off the ground, careful not to brush any body parts against the nearby bush, for that would give away his presence.  He could not lift his head far, for a branch of the bush protruded on Johan's side, blocking any further advance.  From his height, Johan spied a lock of blue.  "Blue?" he thought, incredulous.  "It can't be.  It must be his hat, or it's a hood.  The head was bowed as if it were concentrating on some deep thought.  When the tenor voice began speaking again, the head lifted.  Johan, despite his headache, concluded that this must be the owner of the soft voice.

"How goes the marriage between you and her?" the blue hooded one--it had to be a hood to cover so much of his head, Johan concluded--asked his companion.

"Rosa?  It is not bad.  It's rather hard on her, actually," the bass voice, whose owner Johan still could not see, answered.  "Her life prior to this had been so different.  Even after seven years, I'm not quite sure that she has adjusted completely.  Such is her lot, I guess."

"Do not worry.  You two have a long time ahead of you," the tenor said.  It was less of a statement of comfort than one of fact.  "She will adjust.  In time, she will adjust."

"You are right.  She's used to living among use now, even though she spent so much time with them.  She is a strong one indeed," the bass voice echoed in agreement.  "What of you and Carrie?"

"She was a strong willed girl… no, a strong willed woman, I should say.  It was I who said 'We are no longer children,' after all," the blue hooded one chuckled as he caught his mistake.  "Every time I'm near her, I feel this strange warmth--one that I've not felt for such a long time…"

"It must've been hard on you, losing one so important to you so early in your time on this earth," the bass voice sympathized.  "Now, you have Carrie.  Although she cannot be a replacement, she can at least be the source of your strength."

"Indeed.  She has such a good, strong heart.  I can believe that it was the reason I wanted her so badly.  And that warmth…" again, the tenor voice trailed off.

From Johan's position, he could see that the blue hooded young man lowered his head again.  He looked to his right, but Johan could not see below the young man's neck.  He struggled to lift his head higher, but a quick brush with the branch prevented that.  His curiosity aroused, Johan was determined to get a better view.  Carefully, without moving any of the dead leaves that lay about him, Johan shuffled his body from under the branch.  The path upward cleared, he lifted his body further.  With his arms behind his back and supporting a half sitting position, Johan peered through the cracks left by the branches and the few leaves that remained on the tree.  He got a glimpse at the clothes the young man wore.  It was an elegant blue trench coat, decorated with grey trims.  At the waist was fastened a black belt lined with metals of a gleaming silver color.  "At least I know he's not a thief now," Johan thought.  "The villagers would sooner rob him than the other way around with the décor he wore.

Johan shifted his gaze to search for the owner of the bass voice, but it was a futile effort.  With the leaves and branches in his way, he could see little more than the elaborate coat of the young tenor.  It was a beautiful piece of clothing that Johan coveted, but he was rather tired of the view.  He wanted to see the other man.  Carefully, he shifted his feet, and he managed to get into a stooping position without any rustling of the leaves.  He brushed aside two branches, careful not to disturb the ones that had leaves on them.  From the larger crack, he could see nearly the full body of the young man.  He was a tall fellow, and he was dressed rather properly--complete with a white scarf around the neck. Johan again noticed the lowered head.  He shuffled to the left, trying to get a glimpse of where he thought the young man would be watching.  His field of vision shifted to the right through his effort.  In a moment, he spied something green, something white and red, and something light blue and white.  Johan tried hard to focus his gaze against the sway of his vice.  Momentarily, his brain processed the image in his eye.  It was the head of a young woman.  Her eyes were closed, and her head drooped.  Johan's gaze involuntarily shifted towards the tenor.  He saw the neck of the young woman.  It was a pale white, with two lines of red running perpendicular to it.  One ran to the underside of the neck and stayed there.  The other ran to her shoulder and disappeared in the neck of her green dress.  Johan saw the strong arm of the young tenor locked in a perpendicular position to the left of the young woman's arms, supporting her limb body.

Presently, the young tenor shifted his left arm into view.  From his palm started a pale blue glow.  It grew larger, covering the entire hand and some of his wrist.  The young man's gaze shifted to look at the orb of pure magic he held in his hand.  "…and now, that warmth and I will never be separated."

"Don't forget her good, strong heart.  How else could she have had such wonderful blood for you to feast upon, my master?" the bass voice added.  In his shock, Johan had forgotten to look for the owner of the bass voice.  His gaze now followed the source, peering into the darkness.  He barely saw the outline of a black shape, yet it could not have been that of a human, unless the man was wrapped in a heavy, block robe.  On the back of the figure protruded some other large shape that Johan perceived to be wings.  With the light from the young man's hand, another shape above the hooded figure was illuminated.  It was the metallic shine of a curve blade.

"No other way," the young man answered.  He pointed his hand in the direction of the village, and the large sphere of blue flew from his hand, growing larger as it approached the sleeping town.  In a moment, it crashed into the center, exploding in a fire that lit the sky around the forest.  The young man gazed at the village for a moment--but for what, Johan could not tell--, and he turned toward the hooded figure.

"Why don't you prepare Rosa for a reception?" he addressed the figure in a tone of command.  "I'm sure our friend the Belmont will come running soon, and I'm sure he's dying to see her, though she is by marriage yours."

"I will, master," the hooded figure replied.  In two brilliant pillars of light, all three figures disappeared, leaving Johan staring at the burning town.  He no longer needed to worry about gossipy night watchers informing his wife.


End file.
